


Chicken Run

by Tyellas



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Humor, genfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4137603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somebody thinks they saw a chicken outside the Citadel. Immortan Joe declares, “Hunt for me, my War Boys! Whoever brings me that chicken…in one piece…will DINE WITH ME IN VALHALLA!” Furiosa, Nux, Corpus, and the Immortan himself all have their own reasons to chase that bird, with Slit, War Pups, and the obsessed Rictus along for the rollicking ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Run

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt "Somebody thinks they see a chicken...and insanity ensues." http://madmaxkink.dreamwidth.org/450.html?thread=546498#cmt546498 A combination of crackfic and a love letter to the movie's cars and those underrated Rock Riders.

The Citadel’s authorities gathered around Immortan Joe as he dealt with the sevenday administration. Half of the watching soldiers and engineers were dozy, the other half were restless. All of them were bored. With his favorite Wife two months out from giving birth, Immortan Joe was staying close to home. There were no raids or visits to the Bullet Farm or Gastown – and no need for entourages on the road. Everyone woke up to listen to the scoutmaster’s report for the sevenday. Maybe, just maybe, there would be some excitement.

“North team, nothing. East team, nothing. West team brought in a feral rando with a car, they’re both being put to good use in the chop shops.”

“Good, good. And the South?”

The scoutmaster screwed up his face and adjusted his badge-covered helmet. He coughed. “I don’t know if there was some heatstroke there, but you did request all possible animal sightings,” he nodded to Joe’s son, Corpus. “They said they saw a chicken.”

Immortan Joe sat up. He smacked the ball of his sceptre into one hand. “A chicken?”

The scout shrugged. “I know, Immortan.”

Immortan Joe gazed into the distance, lost in memory. “Mmmm. Chicken.” Then, he rumbled up. “Hunt for me, my War Boys! Whoever brings me that chicken…in one piece…will DINE WITH ME IN VALHALLA!”

His son Corpus yelped, “But, Daaaaad!”

The Immortan waved a hand. “Your concern is noted. Extend fuel to any of the War Boys who wish to hunt today.”

“I want to hunt the chicken! I’ll bring you the chicken!” his other son, Rictus, bellowed.

Rictus' brother tried to reason with him. “It’s not as much fun as you think, Rictus. Just a bird, about so big. You don’t need a flame thrower, or a machine gun, or – “

“You gotta come too! You’re my brother and you know what the chicken is! You know everything!”

“Well, if you put it that way…”

The three top Imperators met each other’s eyes, then walked out.

Imperator Vlad muttered, “It’s not a second Doof Wagon.” It was hard to tell if this relieved him or irritated him further.

Slicer groused, “He could just say, “The boys are bored, let them go ride a few hours.” But no. _Chickens._ Can she miscarry up there already so we can get back to normal?”  

Furiosa clenched and unclenched her right fist. “I could pick up a bike and keep an eye on the boys,” she said, evenly.

Vlad grunted and Slicer said, “Best idea I’ve heard all day. You do that and I’ll go pick my next War Boys from the ones smart enough to stay behind.” Slicer strutted off, preening his mustache.

****

Nux closed the bonnet of his ride, feeling drained but satisfied. “He’ll really run now!” he told the ever-present audience of War Pups.

“Nux! Nux! What you doing, my brother? Have you heard? The Immortan’s called a hunt!”

Nux’s eyes widened. “You got your lances! Who’s traitored him?”

“No, a hunt for something the scouts saw. A chicken!”

“What’s a chicken?”

“It looks like this!” Slit dabbed his fingers in oil and drew a shape on the nearest wall. The result was somewhat globular, with a tiny head.

Nux tilted his head, skeptically. “Looks sick. Is it some kind of mutant?”

Slit was undeterred. “I want to hunt! Is the car good?”

“The new crank-shaft’s in. I boosted the fan speed and reforged the exhaust to a cat-eye configuration. Dialed out the toe-in while I was at it. What I really want is to try a max-cellerated run with the new nintety-five percent leaded fuel to check internal temps and ID if the tire radius should get dropped again.”

Slit said, “Huh?”

Nux banged the bonnet. “We can fang it!”

“FANG IT!”

****

Imperator Furiosa revved along the line. “Nothing too reckless. Got your water?” She double-checked the vast silver truck, an overgrown toy, that carried the Immortan’s son, Rictus. When she saw his brainy brother beside him, she held up a water bottle and tilted her head, inquiringly.

Corpus held up three fingers, then beckoned her over. “They said they saw it to the south. Don’t worry, I got this lot.”

“You’re in charge?” she asked. Corpus nodded.

Furiosa touched her forehead. “I’ll try the southeast.”

Rictus was pounding the roof of his Bigfoot. “Chicken! CHICKKKKEEEEEEN!”

One engine revved, then another. In all the dust and howling as they started, nobody noticed Furiosa’s bike peeling off in a very eastern interpretation of “southeast.”

****

Nux and Slit and a car of excited War Pups whizzed through the wasteland. “You Pups, when you see the chicken thing, you holler, okay? I gotta drive,” said Nux. His eyes roved over three dashboard dials at once.

Slit yelled, “Ranking vehicle!” Nux glanced up to see Rictus’ well-known Bigfoot trundling along. The driver pulled up.

“You see a chicken?” yelled Rictus.

“No, sir,” the war pups chorused.

Nux leaned out and yelled to the driver. “Hey, Bogan, what’s your max-celleration there?”

“Aw, s’posed to be 100K.”

“Sprint me?”

“What’s he want?” Corpus piped up. “A race?”

“Just twenty klicks!” Nux urged.

“Racing is a reckless distraction from our task, and a waste of fuel, and – we’d win, right, Bogan?”

“I dunno how he modded that,” their driver said. “Look at that crazy face there.”

“Kids! Witness them!” Nux hissed. The pups in the car chimed, “Witness! Witness Corpus and Rictus!”

That did the job. Corpus gave a nod. “We’ll race you twenty clicks. To that outcrop on the horizon. But no more than that, hear?”

Everyone cheered except Rictus. “We need to find that CHICKEN,” he roared, as car and truck peeled off.

***

At the peak of the Citadel, Immortan Joe barreled through the refreshing spray of the hydroponics. Did his War Boys and troops think he couldn’t tell when they were on edge? Nothing could be hidden from him. Nobody knew the Citadel as well as he did. They’d have a good run and if anyone died, that was good riddance. Proud of his morning’s work, he decided he deserved an afternoon off.

The door of the Vault boomed open. “Surprise, girls! Daddy’s boys have gone a-hunting!”

He strolled in, feeling his bonhomie expand to fill the whole dome. “Cheedo! Peel me a grape! Capable, let’s have a little music. Angharad, come, let’s relax. You look splendid, Splendid!” He guffawed at his own joke. The girls smiled, too. Handy little Toast came at the ready and relieved him of his respirator, unnecessary in here.

As he sauntered over to Angharad on the cushions, he eyed The Dag, and left her alone instead of stirring her up. The sweet compliance of the others was more his mood today. Then again, was Miss Skinny Bones looking a little rounder? Imagine a son as feisty as she was. Two new sons, wouldn’t that be magnificent!

He opened his left arm as he sprawled, taking up all the cushions. Angharad shifted to recline gingerly against his left side. He caressed her high cheekbones with one finger. “No cutting in two months! Good girl, I’m very pleased.” She lowered her lashes, so demure and beautiful. He gave his favorite’s brow a kiss.

Cheedo popped up to his right, with a perky smile. “One grape? Or two?”

Music began to play. Sunlight struck the chandelier, sending twinkling lights over his bevy of beauties. He lay back, with a contented sigh. This. This was why he ruled the world. This little piece of paradise.

****

Nux’s car was filled with one unified shriek as they whirled across the wasteland. “A hundred and ten, mates, a hundred and ten kay!”

They were neck and neck with the Bigfoot, the truck that had been lavished with all the engineering care the Citadel had to offer. The pups glimpsed their gods Corpus and Rictus inside, urging on the driver, and screamed even more.

Then Nux flicked a switch. Spare fans whirred to life. The accelerator went to 120 and stuck there as the car sped on, past the outcrop. “Chrome. Nothing can outrun this now.” Tires shrieked as he whipped the car around. “Fast enough to go to Valhalla ourselves, Slit! Chicken or not!”

“Witness!” Slit roared. He made the sign of the V-8 as they passed the Bigfoot. Nux glanced up nervously – the problem with surviving mad War Boy compulsions was that you realized maybe, possibly, you’d been stupid. Rictus had emerged to single-mindedly scout for the mystery chicken mutant again, and Corpus had his face in a respirator, but when he pulled it back, he might even have been laughing. Nervously, Nux pulled up.

Bogan stuck his head out. “You win. Nice mod! Corpus says to tell the Ironmaster when we get back. And give us one of those lances in case we see this bird.” Slit scrambled to obey.

****

Furiosa finally allowed herself to breathe. “So we have a deal, then. Passage through for me, then seven days' roadblock, in exchange for a pod of guzzoline, two thousand five hundred gallons minimum.”

The Rock Riders talked among themselves in their pidgin for a moment. Then, they all turned. Each one spoke. “Yes.” “Yeah.” “Hem!” “Done.” “It’s agreed. We have a deal, One-Hand.”

She unslung her water bottle and popped the top. “Drink on it?” She took a swig and passed them the two-liter bottle. It came back to her empty. It would be a thirsty ride back. But so, so worth it.

Furiosa let the Rock Riders leave first – never turn your back on anyone. The last one waved. Maybe one of them had been a woman, under the wraps and talismans? It hadn’t occurred to her. Suddenly, there was so much freedom. For the Wives. For her. They were getting out.

She checked the ground as she turned the bike, and she saw it. It was worth pausing for, just for a moment. She tucked it into her vest and headed west.

The ride back was into the settling sun. She didn’t feel the weight of the cyber-arm. Soon, it would begin. But now: this one hour: she had solitude, a bike, and a straight road. She turned the steering to spin up fans of sand, playing the desert’s curves, then took it back to the smooth road. And hit the accelerator to make the bike _fly._

The ride back went too fast. She tamped down her mood when she ran into the hot, tired convoy again, within sight of the Citadel. “Any luck?” Heads shook. She pulled up to the highest-ranking vehicle and waved at Corpus and Rictus. They didn’t look too happy. And she didn’t want anyone unhappy picking her apart with questions.

“I got this a few klicks away,” she said, holding up her find.

Rictus, exhausted and sunburned, looked dopey. Corpus was the one who leaned forward from his safety lashings. “It’s a feather. From a bird. Like a chicken.”

“A chicken for Dad!”

Furiosa proffered it. “You can take it to your father.”

Rictus lit up. “I’m goin’ to Valhalla! With Dad!” He thunked down to grab the feather, crushing it in his massive fist.

Corpus sighed in tired relief. “Thank you, Imperator. Rictus – it was a good ride. Let’s go home. No more shouting, okay?”

“The Citadel!” Rictus shouted.

Their shadows painted the desert as they roared away.


End file.
